Open Heart

20220503_123140You opened your heart

exposing vulnerability

laid bare hopes, dreams, fear.

You welcomed unreservedly

risked hurt

your light shone bright.

You stood tall, strong yet fragile

You sought communion, connection

You called to life

Your day in the sun is too short

Your view of the future curtailed

As the sun moves away

As light leaves the day

So too, you retreat

Slave to a seasonal beat.

Slow Suicide

Shoot me now.

20210108_192734
By Trish. Prickly, alone.

He gets a laugh, the famous comic.

No topic is taboo.

Mixed colours with whites.

Stayed out all night.

Played poker with the boys.

Made too much noise.

See this manly rotund tum? Beat a bass line on that drum.

Get grief there too.

You’re getting fat.

I don’t love you looking like that.

She says.

Shoot. Me. Now.

I sit. I listen. Take it all in.

Heart and soul alerted.

I hear my laugh. My face, it smiles.

My secret self, inverted.

We’re all dying, the comic calls.

It. Is. The curse of living. 

Enjoy that beer, that glass of wine.

A second bowl of pudding.

So, you get fat. Can’t leave the couch.

Feed blocks of chocolate through your mouth.

Your girl might leave. She’s hard to please. 

Your dog will stay. His love’s for free.

You’re gonna die. You gotta live.

It’s your choice on how that is. 

Shoot. Me. Now.

Tears find a trail down to my chin.

Drop to a lap that isn’t slim.

I graze and nibble treats, all day.

Pure sugar, carbs, all have their way.

My loathsome lack of self-control.

The need. The want. They hijack thoughts.

Disease, the doctor says. Of course.

Permission now to stay this course.

Surrender. Submit.

Obesity’s shit.

Constantly eat. Feed cancerous cells.

That kind of living does not end well.

I laugh out loud.

Shoot. Me Now.

Lost to time

W.O.T.D challenge – using Auld Lang Syne 

Viscosity of life

thick, gel-like quality

suffocating, drowning

today at least, to me

represents adulthood

Long gone are the days of innocence

the joy of living

unconditional hope, boundless love, received

lightness of spirit, reciprocated

They sing of years gone by, friends forgotten

olden times fondly remembered.

cherish those memories, those friends, the good times.

I can’t hear love, hope, cheer

it is not possible to tell

body language speaks of togetherness, connectedness

but the tune is mournful.

It prompts in me a yearning

for a return to that childlike state

when concerns were as deep as

what’s for dinner

a smile, kiss, cuddle

I need a return to that peace

to the fluidity and weightlessness

I can no longer trudge through

this suffocating fug

for Auld Lang Syne.

“In One Word” Poem – Devastate

Today’s Word is devastate

Off on his quest, atop his steed

Arthur leads his soldiers east

No time to eat

Nor hunger sate

A country’s honour his to save

               And death, to evade

Upon this quest, fear will be tasted

Freedom for all, a tease

The kingdom is vast

A glorious estate

The Saxon lord’s unsteady seat

               Detached now from his mother’s teat

Returned, this eve

To home this date

He looks upon his men, his mates

And dares to dream, of peace instead

The King of Britain, now devest

               Of warlike garment, and blood-soaked vest

In One Word” poem, you

  • choose a word
  • list words that you find within that word
  • choose words from that list
  • write a poem in which each line ends with one of those words
  • Visit https://nixthecomfortzone.com/ for examples

Ode to the Bus Driver

Bus Eireann Expressway

Bus Eireann Expressway

Irish Bus Driver

Whether driving Bus Eireann through cramped city streets

or out in the country, with tractors and sheep

or high in the cockpit of a deluxe touring coach

the Irish Bus Driver is better than  most

Behind the wheel of behemoth beast

a wily character upon his seat

his wits about him every day

exuding humour, come what may

The roads are narrow, winding, steep

obstacles lurk and idiots beep

the Irish Bus Driver breathes slowly, deeply

and protects his passengers, anger not creeping

He has the patience of a saint

keeps temper even, when things ain’t

conditions worsen, eyes are burning

good music plays, DJ grooving

With nerves of steel, he makes no fuss

he charms the women on the bus

reaches a hand to help the weary

has knowledge to share and is rarely dreary

His driving day is very long

from Dublin to Galway, detour by Cong

he says to his clients “meet back here by 3”

the next stop serves the sweetest tea

Of course, there’s always one who’s late

the driver must smile, and never berate

he gets points for highest of driving skills

and also, for zero ‘recorded’ kills

At the end of the day, on roads not for bussing

he gets us home safely, tired but smiling

“Thank you!” we call to our Irish Bus Driver

who continues alone. Back same time tomorrow.

(Not a poet! But hope you enjoyed that tribute.)

Friday Fictioneers – America

Friday Fictioneers, photo by Ronda del Boccio

Photo by: Ronda del Boccio

Red, white, and blue

Reveals to the world

Righteous self-belief

Follow: We will lead!

We crowd in behind you

Watch atrocities unfold

Weep loudly, in hindsight

Wish: We’d refused!

But times are a’changing

Beware our disdain

Because, our consciences

Call: To refrain

Respect, being eroded

Regrets, we have many

Resigned, to self-awareness

Own: Our decisions

Willing, to change

Worthwhile, the effort

Wisdom, evolving

Change: Let us lead

Bringing you with us

Bravely, we try

Big-hearted nations

Work: Side by side

Land of the brave

Land of the free

Land of the Trump

Fake News: Follow me!

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here